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And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
'T was but that instant she had left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back, and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger ;
But now, alas! she was not to be found;
Nor, from that hour, could any thing be guessed,
But that she was not!

Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Venice, and, embarking,
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.
The father lived, and long might you have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something ;
Something he could not find, he knew not what.
When he was gone, the house remained a while
Silent and tenantless; then went to strangers.
Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten,
When on an idle day,

a day of search 'Mid the old lumber in the gallery, That mouldering chest was noticed, and 't was said, By one as young, as thoughtless, as Ginevra, “Why not remove it from its lurking-place ?" 'Twas done as soon as said ; but, on the way, It burst-it fell; and, lo! a skeleton, With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone, A golden clasp clasping a shred of gold. All else had perished, save a wedding ring And a small seal, her mother's legacy, Engraven with a name, the name of both, - “ Ginevra."

There then she had found a grave !
Within that chest had she concealed herself,
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy,
When a spring lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fastened her down for ever!


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And this, 0 Spain! is thy return

For the new world I gave!
Chains ! this the


I earn! The fetters of the slave! Yon sun that sinketh 'neath the sea Rises on realms I found for thee.

I served thee as a son would serve ;

I loved thee with a father's love;
It ruled my thought, and strung my nerve,

To raise thee other lands above,
That thou, with all thy wealth, might be
The single empress of the sea.
For thee my form is bowed and worn

With midnight watches on the main;
For thee my soul hath calmly borne

Ills worse than sorrow, more than pain;
Through life, whate'er my lot might be,
I lived, dared, suffered, but for thee.
My guerdon ? — T is a furrowed brow, ,

Hair gray with grief, eyes dim with tears,
And blighted hope, and broken vow,

And poverty for coming years,
And hate, with malice in her train :-
What other guerdon ? — View my chain !
Yet say not that I weep for gold !

No, let it be the robber's spoil.
Nor yet, that hate and malice bold

Decry my triumph and my toil. -
I weep but for Spain's lasting shame;

but for her blackened fame.
No more. The sunlight leaves the sea ;

Farewell, thou never-dying king!
Earth's clouds and changes change not thee,

And thou — and thou, - grim, giant thing,
Cause of my glory and my pain, --
Farewell, unfathomable main!

MISS JEWSBURY (altered).


THE isles of Greece! the isles of Greece !

Where burning Sappho loved and sung;
Where grew the arts of war and peace;

Where Dēlos rose, and Phoebus sprung;
Eternal summer gilds them yet -
But all, except their sun, is set !



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The Scian and the Tēian muse,

The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
Have found the fame your shores refuse :

Their place of birth alone is mute
To sounds which echo further west
Than your sires' “ Islands of the blessed."
The mountains look on Marathon,

And Marathon looks on the sea :
And musing there an hour, alone,

I dreamed — that Greece might still be free !
For, standing on the Persian's grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.
A king sat on the rocky brow

Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,

And men, in nations - all were his !
He counted them at break of day -
And when the sun set, where were they?
And where are they? and where art thou,

My country? - On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now

The heroic bosom beats no more!
And must thy lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine ?
'T is something, in the dearth of fame,

Though linked among a fettered race,
To feel at least a patriot's shame,

Even as I sing, suffuse my face ;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks, a blush! for Greece, a tear !
Must we but weep o'er days more blest ?

Must we but blush ? Our fathers BLED !
Earth! render back from out thy breast

A remnant of our Spartan dead !
Of the Three Hundred, grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylæ!
What, silent still ? and silent all ?

Ah! no; - the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,

And answer, “Let one living head, But one arise,

we come, we come!”. 'T is but the living who are dumb.

Think ye

In vain! in vain! — Strike other chords,

Fill high the cup with Samian wine !
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,

And shed the blood of Scio's yine !
Hark! rising to the ignoble call,
How answers each bold bacchanal!
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;

Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ?
Of two such lessons, why forget

The nobler and the manlier one ?
You have the letters Cadmus gave

he meant them for a slave ?
Trust not for freedom to the Franks -

They have a king who buys and sells :
In native swords, and native ranks,

The only hope of courage dwells;
But Turkish force, and Latin fraud,
Would break your shield, however broad.
Place me on Sunium's marble steep,

Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;

There, gwan-like, let me sing and die :
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine -
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine !


I ASKED the heavens ; “ What foe to God had done

This unexampled deed ?" The heavens exclaim, “'Twas man; and we in horror snatched the sun

From such a spectacle of guilt and shame.” I asked the sea ;

the sea in fury boiled, And answered, with his voice of storms, « T was man ; My waves in panic at his crime recoiled,

Disclosed the abyss, and from the center ran.” I asked the earth; – the earth replied, aghast,

“ 'T was man; and such strange pangs my bosom rent, That still I groan and shudder at the past.”

To man, gay, smiling, thoughtless man, I went, And asked him next:- - he turned a scornful eye, Shook his proud head, and deigned me no reply.




THERE are three lessons I would write

Three words — as with a burning pen,
In tracings of eternal light,

Upon the hearts of men.
Have HOPE! — Though clouds environ now,

And gladness hides her face in scorn,
Put thou the shadows from thy brow-

No night but hath its morn.
Have FAITH ! Where'er thy bark is driven —

The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth —
Know this : God rules the hosts of heaven,

The inhabitants of earth.
Have Love! — Not love alone for one,

But man, as man, thy brother call,
And scatter like the circling sun

Thy charities on all.
Thus grave

these lessons on thy soul,-
Hope, Faith, and Love, — and thou shalt find
Strength when life's


rudest roll, Light when thou else wert blind.

XXXVII. - THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. Mr. Koy, the author of the following noble stanzas, had left Baltimore in a

cartel, or ship sent for exchange of prisoners, for the purpose of effecting the release of a friend on board the British feet. He was compelled to remain on board the cartel, under the eye of the British, while the latter bombarded Fort Henry. Mr. Key paced the deck of his ship all night, fearing the effect of the attack on the American fort. He saw our flag waving as the sun went down, and occasionally, by the light of bursting shells, after dark ; but, as the bombardment was continued during tho night, he feared that we might have surrendered. What was his joy, “at the morning's first dawn," on seeing that “our flag was still there!" The attack on Baltimore had failed. Ho embodied his emotions, on the spur

of the moment, in this immortal song. This was in the year 1814. O, BAY, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming, And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there ?

0! say, does that Star-Spangled Banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ?

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